I'd Go With You: Retry
by DeathMcGunz
Summary: Revamp of the original; Taylor and Zoey were just two normal girls who met on xbox live until they were brought into the halo-verse.
1. The Door

**Chapter One**

Taylor rubbed herself, sending a shiver of pleasure up her spine. Her hand shook as her muscles tensed, her legs straightened and her back curved with the slightest arch. A moan whispered from her mouth as her mind focused on the things that made her body tingle. They were minute little things, tucked deep in the confines of her subconscious and they were hard to find. But when she did find them, boy did it feel so good.

On her back, she opened her eyes for a moment just to catch a glimpse of her ceiling. A moan opened her mouth and closed her eyes at the same time, putting her mind back in darkness. Even the sounds from outside seemed to be blocked out; the birds chirping, the wind blowing the trees, cars rolling down the highway. Everything was just a blur of heat and sweat as she continued.

She felt it coming. The pressure. The sweet, sweet pressure. It had her backed against a cliff side and was threatening to push her over the edge. She wouldn't mind. She wanted it. The wave of pleasure was coming and she didn't want to wait. She wanted it then, so her hand tried to do the work. It was going and going, like a machine or a hummingbird's heart. She felt it coming closer and closer. It was pushing harder now, forcing one foot to dangle over the cliff. Then it was…

"Taylor!" There was a voice from outside of her door. Pleasure was quickly replaced by panic. "Are you up, dear?" Taylor's hand flew from her shorts and was immediately tucked under a blanket, wiping all trace from it. She needed to speak, but her throat was dry; bone dry. It seemed to crack when she tried to force a word out. Pulling her hand from the blanket she sprung up from the bed, the sheet sticking to her for a moment before relinquishing its grip.

"Taylor? Are you oh…" Taylor opened the door, revealing only her head. She might have worried about the frizzled hair on her head, but considering how she usually looked when she got up, she knew it wouldn't be a big deal. "Oh, you're up." Her mom sounded disappointed, or maybe it was more of a worried tone.

"Yeah, 'just woke me up."

"I'm sorry, hunny. I just wanted to let you know your father brought home breakfast, so if you want it hot come and grab it."

"What'd he get?"

"Burger King, of course." Her mom gave a shy smile and Taylor returned it before nodding her head. After a small moment of awkward silence, Taylor's mom turned and walked towards the kitchen, which is when Taylor let out a large sigh. It wasn't entirely a sigh of relief, it had hints of disappointment on the surface as well. Cause she was disappointed; majorly disappointed.

_I'll finish later_, she told herself, stepping out of her room into the hallway. She could smell the Burger King and even if it wasn't very good for her, she still loved it. She didn't mind health to begin with. No matter what she did she couldn't seem to change her lanky figure. Tall, pale and lanky, was her nickname during junior high and sometimes it even came back now that she was a junior in high school. It was something she had come to accept but not fully embrace. It's hard to embrace what you don't love.

Her bare feet scuttled across the carpet until they reached the cold tiles of the kitchen, that's when she held out her hands in front of her like a child asking for something. Her mother gave a little smirk, but her father didn't seem quite as amused.

"Just come and get it. You're not a little girl anymore." Taylor felt a little hurt. Well, ok, maybe more than just a little.

"Steven!" Her mother exclaimed. "She was just playing around."

"Well, I'm sorry. I just expect a bit more maturity from my own daughter."

"Sorry, dad," Taylor kept her voice low as she stepped over to the counter, grabbed her plate of food and headed for the stairs. She heard her mother saying something about children as she descended into the cold, furbished basement, while her father kept blowing the same horn. Their conversation faded out at the same time she flicked on the light switch. The room instantly bathed in light revealed the new carpet, the support beam setting smack dab in the middle of the massive room, the old couch and the brand-new television.

Her heart was still racing from her previous activity, but she didn't even notice as she took a seat on the couch, placing her plate down next to her (she just wanted to forget). She began to eliminate the food as she flicked on the T.V. SpongeBob filled the screen and Taylor let out a chuckle, but still quickly changed it to the auxiliary channels. She wanted her Xbox on and she wanted it on right at that moment. She found that her pleasure normally turned to the anxious desire to kill some form of virtual foe whenever it was cut off from its goal. Maybe it was just a good distraction.

The Xbox flicked on as Taylor pressed the guide button on the white controller that was setting by her plate. Grabbing a few hash browns and stuffing them in her mouth, Taylor watched the usual screen go by before being taken to the dashboard (her tiny avatar waved as it appeared and Taylor jokingly waved back). And with a few flicks of the stick, and one press of a button, she was watching Halo Reach load up.

She finished up the hash browns before the screen prompted her to press start. She chose multiplayer and then opened up her friends' list, knowing the one person who had to be on. "ZooBear" was the one of fifty-four online and Taylor sent an invite, knowing they would accept. They did almost immediately, their voice coming over the T.V speakers with their greeting.

"Sup, Tay?" Taylor rushed to grab her mic and plug it in. "Oh, I see. Don't have your mic." The voice joked, following the sentence with a girly giggle. Taylor smiled as she plugged the mic in, the giggle coming from the headphones now instead of the speakers.

"Oh shit! You caught me." The girly giggle filled Taylor's ear again, and again she smiled. "So I hope your morning was cooler than mine, Zoe."

"You know I keep it ice cold wherever I go." That time it was Taylor to do girly giggle and Zoey to smile. "No, but it was ok. My dad's just been bugging me about this stupid ball."  
"Ball?"

"Yeah, like a dance," Zoey said. "His work is throwing one and he said he has to bring the whole fam."

"A dance, eh? That sounds like a whole batch of fun."

"Oh yeah, tell me about it. Dressing up just to sit around and smile at all my dad's bosses; sounds like a ton-o-fun."

"Oh shush, you'll have a great time. Turn some heads, break some hearts, you know? That old Zoey shtick." Zoey laughed at that one, not bothering to move her mouth away from the mic so that Taylor's ear was filled with rough static.

"Psh. Ain't no heads gunna be turnin'," Zoey said, butchering a southern accent.

"Yeah right, girl. You be turnin' my head anytime." They both laughed and Taylor went ahead and started searching for a match.

"Oh, so that's how it is? Well let me just say, little missy, that you ain't so bad neither." By then the laughter was starting to die down, but they still giggled as the server racked up a few more players for their game. "I had the oddest dream last night, Tay. It was like I was Soap, from Modern Warfare you know, and I was running the roof tops in south America."

"That doesn't sound weird. It sounds pretty awesome really."

"No, no, no! You didn't let me finish. Instead of being chased by terrorists or whatever, it was the zombies from Resident Evil 4, and they kept yelling things in Spanish at me."

"Yeah, I suppose that would be a bit scary."

"It was just weird as hell."

The lobby filled up and their voices got hidden beneath the yells and whelps of the other players. There were the normal assortment of people; screamers, yellers, old men, little boys and now Taylor and Zoey were a part of the statistic. There was a little boy and one of those deep-voiced, older guys arguing about age. It was the same old game, nothing had changed.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" The deep voice said. "It's Friday." A few of his supporters laughed as the boy tried to speak up.

"No, it's a teacher's institute today, so we got the day off." Taylor felt bad for the kid, cause there was no way for him to come out on top. Douche-bags like the deep-voice and his cohorts were quick to insult and slow to get rid of. Zoey's silence told Taylor that she felt the same.

"Oh!" There was a batch of laughter. "Oh! Teacher's institute. Little boy gets to stay home for the day." The laughter made Taylor's anger boil up.

"You know, that kind of stuff probably happened when you were in school," Taylor's voice stayed calm, which surprised her because usually when she's angry it's obvious. "You know, like a year ago."

"Wha…what's this? Another little boy!" The guys laughed, spitting static into everyone's ears. Taylor swore she heard Zoey say "Oh boy, Tay," and that made her smile.

"Yup, just another little boy, being annoying and making your life so, so hard." Taylor made sure to put her feminine charm into the latter half of her sentence, then she opened the dash and invited Zoey to a private chat. That didn't stop her from hearing the reactions, which included laughter, yelling and all around chaos. Both girls thought it was so hilarious that they could put any lobby into disarray just by speaking so when the private chat connected they were both laughing.

"Did you hear that guy!" Zoey said through her chuckling.

"Did you hear him after he found out I was a girl?" They both burst into laughter but Taylor's was cut off abruptly as her mother stepped down the stairs. Taylor removed her headset quickly and turned towards her, knowing her father would be accompanying. She didn't know why, but her father didn't like it when she wore her headset, as if it was a crime to talk to one of her only friends.

"Taylor?" She asked, knowing that Taylor was down there (who couldn't have heard her laughter?).

"Yeah, mom, I'm here."

"Your father wants to say something to you, dontcha dear?" Taylor watched as her father, a tall, bulky guy, walked around her tiny mother into the light. He had his hands in his pockets, which always meant that her mother had forced him to do something. This time the 'something' was to apologize to his own daughter. Taylor almost wanted to laugh.

"Listen, Tay. I'm sorry for snapping." His voice was a bit hesitant, but he got it out.

"That's ok, dad." Taylor said, lowering her gaze to the carpet.

"It's just that I had a hard day…" A noise on the mic caught his attention. "I just had a hard day at wor…" The noise again. Taylor knew it was just static, but she could see that her father wasn't thinking the same. "I just had a hard day at…" The noise came through again and this time Taylor saw that her father didn't have the patience to try his sentence again. She felt her heart sank.

"Why do you even have that thing in?" His voice was trying to stay calm, but it wasn't working.

"I was just talking to Zoey…" Taylor's voice was little more than a whisper.

"Why do you have to talk to her on that thing? Why don't you just invite her over so that I can actually talk to you when I need to?"

"Cause she doesn't live around here." Again, little more than a whisper, because she knew how her father felt.

"Oh, so it's one of your little," His mind paused to find the right word. "Little online friends, is it?"

"Yeah, dad."

"You know how I feel about that."

"I'm sorry, dad."

"I just don't see why you don't go out and make some friends." That's when Taylor felt she was being treated like a child. And when she felt like that, she got defensive.

"I do go out and make friends, dad. It's just eight o'clock in the morning on a day off of school, which means everyone is still sleeping."

"Oh really, you do? Like who?"

"Like Sarah, and Pepsi! You just don't know them because you're never home!"

"Oh! So that's what this is?" Her father's voice finally rose over the normal talking level.

"That's what what is? You're the one that started pickin' on me!"

"Oh, I'm sorry if you can't handle our little talks."

"Dad, shut the fuck up." Taylor had never cursed in front of her parents before, but at that moment in time she didn't care. Anger had her in its rigid clutches and it wanted to take her for a ride.

"What'd you say to me?" He wasn't yelling, his voice was too stunned. Taylor's mom had went up the stairs already and was now probably crying upstairs. Thinking that made Taylor feel sorry, but it was too late.

"I said shut the fuck up! Cause that's all you do! You're never here when we need you, you're always working! But when you come home it's your way or nothing! You pick on me, you insult my best friend, you say I don't have any real friends!" Taylor was tearing up now. "What the hell is wrong with you?"  
"With me? With me!" Steven stood up, fire engulfing his eyes. "What's wrong with you? Where's your respect? Where's your dignity? Don't cry! You're not a little kid anymore! You can't just cry and get away with whatever you want! You're an adult now!"

"Dad! Shut the fuck up! This is what I mean!" The tears were falling from her eyes now, drenching her cheeks with their sadness. "I'm not crying to get you to stop! I'm crying because you hurt me! That's all you do! You just hurt me! And you're hurting mom, too!"

Taylor turned from her father and curled up on the couch. Her eyes were only slits filled with water, but she could still see that her Spartan was in a game, the score completely lopsided due to her disappearance. She thought of Zoey and felt embarrassed and cried some more.

Her father didn't say anything, he only stood up and looked down at his daughter with eyes that could have been sad or unforgiving. Then he turned and went to the stairs. Taylor tried to muffle her sobs and it worked for the most part. Her tears slid out silently, but her chest and back still shuddered. Steven stopped at the stairs and turned back to his daughter before saying:

"I just want you to be tough." His voice was calm, more so than Taylor had ever heard it. "The world has teeth out there, and I don't want it to eat you." Then he climbed the stairs to go to his wife.

It took about ten minutes, or the time it took to finish the match, until Taylor was able to sit up and dry her eyes. She slipped on the headset and let out a breath into the mic to signal that she was back. Zoey smiled and somehow Taylor hear it. It made her heart rise up a bit. It made her lips curl at the edges.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Bout what? Not finishing that match? Yeah, you best be sorry." Zoey's normal, smiling voice was all Taylor heard.

"I mean my father."

"What about him?" Taylor felt a bit perplexed. There was absolutely no way that someone could have just not heard their fight.

"Uh…"

"Did he say something while I was gone?"

"Oh, you were gone?" Taylor's heart dropped all of its weight, rising to the surface for the first time that morning (except when she was touching herself, it had gotten pretty close then).

"Yeah, I had to talk to my dad about that stupid ball. I have to get ready after this last game."

"Oh, that sucks. I'm gonna be stuck here all day." Taylor tried to push the argument behind her, she could think about it later.

"Isn't there a football game at your high school tonight?" Zoey sounded excited, as if she couldn't wait to go to the game, even though there wasn't a way she could.

"Yeah, but I'm not going there alone."

"Oh, psh! If I was there I'd go with you."

"Yeah, well I'd go with you too. That'd be one hell of a game." They both laughed, Taylor feeling much better than she had a couple minutes ago.

"Oh snap! Vote for Boardwalk! I love that map." Taylor could hear Zoey scrambling for something on her side of the mic, so her voice came out more strained than she had wanted it to. It made Taylor laugh and she voted for Boardwalk.

"So what're you wearing to this ball?"

"Oh, it's so cute! I wish I could show you! It's green with this white…" Everything went black.

"Fuck!" Taylor erupted, not even expecting it from herself.

"Hunny? Are you ok?"

"Yeah mom."  
"The power went out, your father's going to check the breakers."

"Kay." Taylor relaxed back on the couch, feeling a bit depressed about how the morning had turned out. The failure in her bed, the food was good, her father being her father, not getting to hang with Zoey much; it was a big mess of mix-ups. Somehow it made her a feel a bit better to know that Zoey was probably feeling bad about not getting to hang with her as well.

_Unless she thinks I ditched her_, she thought. But then just shook her head. There's no way that Zoey would be that paranoid of their friendship. _I love her like a sister. _Taylor had a sister, but that's a story for another day.

She let out a sigh before standing up in the basement, which in the dark reminded her of the nightmares she used to have as a child. It was a scary section of house too, it wasn't just that she was a child. The corners were absolutely drenched in black, and the walks looked like they were moving in the minimal light, the ceiling felt lower and the carpet didn't even feel like a carpet. They were all just tricks of the mind, but they worked, very well I might add.

Turning to the stairs, her life changed forever. Standing there, where the stairs used to be, was a door. It was large, wooden, smooth; it looked like an antique that her grandmother might buy and store in her basement, never to use. The handle was silver and it shone through the darkness that was her basement. There was no keyhole, which was just something odd she realized immediately (Taylor didn't know why, but her eyes always seemed to pick up the oddest, minute details before anyone else could).

She stepped over to it and noticed that it was paper thin. The frame was missing, leaving only the door and its hinges, but she just knew that it could open anyways. She didn't know where it would go, but she knew it would open. For all she knew it would just lead to her stairs, but something in her brain (instinct maybe) told her that wasn't so.

It felt cold to the touch as she ran her fingers across the polished wood, from the top all the way to the shiny knob. She grasped it in her finger and felt a sense of overwhelming force. It covered her brain, like a headache but sweet, pleasurable. It was knowledge, but it was locked away in some large wardrobe in her brain and it needed several keys. Of course she didn't have any located in her own brain, so it just felt like an extra weight up there.

Looking around the door, her hand still on the knob, she saw that her stairs were still there, leading up into the living room. That's when she noticed she had a choice, one that was already made long before she saw the door, only she didn't know it. She didn't know it, but her destiny had laid itself out in front of her and it was kind enough to give her the option of passing it up and going upstairs. The knowledge locked away in that wardrobe told her that if she didn't open the door she'd regret it for the rest of her life. Not only that though, it also told her that what was behind that door was amazing, beyond her comprehension.

"You'd have to see it to believe it," a voice spoke to her inside of her head. She hardly heard it, staring at the top of the door now, reading the writing that was inscribe don it.

"The Leader," it read. "1of 5."

On the surface of her brain, she had no idea what that meant. But deep down, locked in the wardrobe of knowledge, she knew that it was powerful, that it was important. She knew that she had to open the door, so she did. And take her first steps into a new world she did.

**I hope that opening wasn't too much for all of you, and I hope you liked it. Remember to read and reviews, especially if you were a reader of the original. Tell me how this compares, what you like and don't like. All of that cool stuff that helps me out. =] Thanks again for reading!**


	2. What's on the other side

**Thank you all for the amazing reviews. They always make the day a bit brighter. **

**Chapter Two**

Taylor had a dream as she stepped through the door. Except it wasn't a dream, it was more like a memory, one she was remembering for the first time. It engulfed her like an ocean, pushing her into its depths until she was so far under she didn't want to resurface.

She saw herself standing in a gathering a trees, except she didn't watch, she experienced. It was as if she were playing a videogame instead of watching a movie, looking at a screen but being able to control what the screen could do and where it could go.

The wind blew like a whisper through the unruly grass. It brushed around her ankles and pushed the hair from her face. Around her the trees blew this way and that with every gust, leafs breaking free of their limbs and floating on the air like tiny boats on the ocean of her memory. She felt the suns warming rays on her skin, except it wasn't quite like the sun she remembered. There wasn't a word that came to her mind when she looked at, just a chord in her heart that twanged at its sight.

"Now remember," a voice spoke from behind her. It was familiar but it felt so odd. "You want to keep your wrist stiff and your shoulder shouldn't do the movement; it's all in your arm." A hand rested on her left shoulder and she turned her head to see who it was. An odd, loving sensation washed over her. It was her father, a man who had never talked in such a calm, instructive method before. It made her feel happy.

That when she noticed the weight in her right hand. She lifted it up to her face, seeing a shining blade with a black, rubber grip. A knife, one she knew belonged to her father, was in her tiny hand. She was younger than the day she went through the door, but she didn't notice that, because it was a memory, one she was beginning to take a hold of.

"Use your thumb and pointer finger to grip the tip of the blade."

"But it's sharp," Taylor heard a younger her say. Then her dad laughed, but not the condescending kind, but a loving, healthy kind. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Don't worry, it won't hurt you," he stepped in front of her and knelt on one knee. His hand wrapped around hers and shaped it so that she was holding the knife, by the well kept tip, handle pointing out towards a tree. "That's it; hold it like you would grip a pencil. Now you're going to use your left arm as a guide for your right. So extend it so that your fingers are pointing at your target." Taylor did as he said, and he continued.

"Good, good. Now this is the tricky part, but it's not hard. Not at all." Now he stood next to her, mimicking her stance. "Spread your legs a bit more and keep your left arms straight." They did it as if they were opposites in a mirror, only Taylor's head was cocked to her left to keep her eyes on what her father was doing.

"Ok, to do this properly you're going to need to do these three things all in one motion. You're going to bring the hand with the knife in it, all the way behind you, only bending it slightly at the elbow." He did it, she mimicked him. "Now you're going to crack your arm like a whip." He did it slowly and Taylor tried to follow him, dropping her knife in the process. He gave a chuckle and bent down to get it for her.

"That's very important too. Hold on to that blade as if it were a part of your arm. Don't let go until its time." She gripped it again, nodding her head to show that she understood_. Part of my arm_, she repeated in her head, _not until its time_.

"Ok, now bring it back, only bending your arm at the elbow. Good, good. Now, kinda like you would throw a baseball, you'r going to whip your arm forward. Except you need to keep your wrist stiff and your shoulder isn't doing the throw, so it shouldn't move." He slowly did the motion again and she followed along, this time not dropping the knife. "That's a good start," he said, stepping around her right side and taking her arm in his hands. "Except you don't want your arm to fully extend at the end, you could injure yourself. What you want is to exaggerate the movement as much as you can, extending your arm as soon as you being to whip it." He did it slowly again before asking, "You want a demonstration?"

"Yes, sir," She heard herself say and on any other occasion it would have stunned her. But she wasn't playing a game anymore, or controlling the screen. She actually was the girl. The memory finally became a memory, forever engraved in Taylor's mind.

Her father stepped up a few feet, putting her out of his way. Then a knife that was on his belt one moment, was sticking from a tree the next. His arm was extended for only a moment before it went back to his side. It was so quick, Taylor didn't even catch a glimpse of the throw. She felt impressed; her father was amazing.

"There ya go," He turned and smiled at her. "Now it's your turn."

Her heart beat sped up as she placed her feet again, feeling the grass brush against her bare ankles as the wind blew. The tip of the blade was firmly between her two fingers and she took in a deep breath, one that made her tiny lungs feel like they were cracking like an egg shell. _Firm wrist, un-moving shoulder, exaggerated movement,_ she repeated in her head until she lifted the knife above and behind her.

_One…_

She held her breath and her stance.

_Two…_

Her left arm raised and aimed for the tree.

_Three…_

She let out her breath and everything with it.

The knife flung from her fingers towards the tree, and sadly the handle just bounced from the trunk. Taylor felt water squeeze from her eyes as her heart sank to the bottom of her gut. Disappointment was what she felt, even if she didn't quite know the word at that age. It embraced her like the memory had, and the corners of her eyes began to grow blurry.

"Great job!" Her father bellowed, wrapping his arm around her and hugging tightly.

"No it wasn't," Taylor said through a sob. "It didn't do what yours did."

"Oh, sweetie," She hugged her tighter. "It takes years of practice to do that. You think I could do it on my first try?" She looked up at him with teary eyes and he smiled at her. It was a warm, gentle smile; it felt like the sun. "No, of course I couldn't. I was young just like you were and my father brought me out here to show me. I cried because I was so sad, but he just hugged me like I'm huggin' you and said, 'Son, that's better than I did on my first try'.

"And I can say to you that that was a lot better than I did on my first try. You're going to be amazing if you keep at it." He smiled and rubbed her arm before releasing the hug. "Just don't tell your mother I showed you this. She feels odd about me teaching you the things I know." His smile was a bit different then, more sly than sincere, but it was still nice. The corners of her eyes became blurrier, as did the top and bottom. Her vision was being squeezed from her. She was fading out of the memory and was once again aware that she was watching the little girl through a screen instead of being her.

"I just want you to be tough," He said, kneeling down in front of little Taylor again and looking into her eyes. "The world has teeth out there and I don't want it to eat you."

That's when she woke up to a room that was both familiar and foreign; just as her dad's voice had been. The walls were white and smooth, rounding at most edges instead of coming in at corners. The roof was high, giving her a good eight feet of head room and the fact that it was white made it feel twice that.

Looking around she saw that she was in a living room, sitting up on a couch in front of a currently off television. The couch was a light-brown color, reminding her of the couch that she had been playing Halo on, what felt like a couple minutes ago. The T.V was black and it was attached to the wall adjacent to Taylor, most likely for easy viewing. There was a flash in her mind as she remembered buying it and helping her mom put it up on the wall.

Her mind felt like it was swimming. A splitting pain sent shudders to every edge of her body. The only thing she could do was fall from the couch onto the floor while trying to push down on the temples of her head. It didn't relieve any of the pain so she just curled up and waited for it to just go away. Thankfully it did and she was able to sit up again.

She found herself in between an old wooden coffee table and the couch, looking into what could only be a kitchen. From where she sat it looked like hers, so, with eagerness filling her, she popped up and rushed through the archway into it. She felt a mix of relief and disappointment. It felt like home, but it didn't look like home; at least not a home she remembered. But she did, faintly. Like lightning in her head, images flashed in front of her; Her family making breakfast, bumping into the island-counter with the toaster on it, bringing groceries in and setting them on the deep countertop that stretched around the entire cozy kitchen.

"Mom?" She called out, hoping for anyone to answer. Then something struck her like a gong, actually two things at once. _The door,_ was the one that stuck out the most and the one that made the most sense. The other just made her confused. _She's out at some spa for the weekend_. The two separate thoughts swirled around like a terrible storm in her head, both fighting for survival. But that was the thing, they both were true, and Taylor knew that. She remembered her mom telling her that the house was hers for the rest of the week, then leaving credits on the counter before picking up a suitcase and walking out the front door, waving the entire way.

_Credits_, she asked in her head. _Yeah, money_.

"No, no, no," She repeated, walking from the kitchen back into the living room, _of the apartment_. The thought pushed into her head. _The apartment, our apartment_; _this is the apartment I've lived in for years. But that can't be, I just went through that door and arrived her. I'm not from here, wherever here is. But then again, I feel like I am. I feel like there's two of me, like a split personality psycho. I feel like two people colliding in one body._

"Shut the fuck up!" She yelled, the words echoing off the walls and coming back at her. Her mind listened, the fighting coming to a standstill, the opposing forces retreating back to their forts (probably preparing for the next battle). She leaned back and the wall caught her. Her hand came to rest on her forehead, her cool skin surprising herself; it felt nice.

"Thank you," she said. The walls around her seemed to welcome her and for that moment she did feel like she was at home. Her father was on his fourth consecutive deployment, her sister was off at officer training, her mom was giving herself a vacation and she was…

"What am I doing?" She asked, breaking the bliss. She understood that she had just woke up, so she supposed that she hadn't decided yet. "What's going on?" Then, as if some powerful being had been waiting for Taylor to ask that specific question, there was a loud thump from a room that identified itself as "Mom and Dad's" in Taylor's split mind.

Taylor's mind snapped into a state of anxiousness. She didn't really feel fear, but she also noticed that one wrong step and it would become fear, very powerful fear. So she took careful steps towards the room that was located behind the couch. There wasn't an archway for it, only a brown, metallic door. It was in the shape of a rectangle, only the edges were rounded off and when Taylor got within five feet of it, it chimed. Taylor froze and the door slid out of her way, revealing a darkened room.

A memory of her sister, back when they weren't even in their teens, popped into her brain. They had snuck into her parents room here in the apartment while they were sleeping, just so they could see their Christmas presents. Being only kids, they had forgotten that the lights came on when someone stepped through the doorway. Their dad woke up immediately, a worried expression on his face that relaxed as soon as he saw his two daughters.

The memory ended and Taylor noticed that she had walked into the room, the lights fading onto reveal a large bed with clothes scattered across it. Her mother had always been sloppy, even before she stepped through the door, so it came as no surprise to her. But what she did find weird was the suitcase; it was setting by the bed, gleaming in its leather brilliance. Neither her mother nor her father ever used a brief case. She knew that the latter had owned one, but he never once took it out of the closet, not on her side of the door, or on this side.

So she stepped towards it and picked it up by the handle. It felt light, stiff and professional in her pale hands. She marveled at it, lifting it up so she could examine it before setting it down on top of her mother's 'Sunday clothes'. It felt weird for her to think of them like that, considering they didn't look like any clothes she remembered. But then again she did. She closed her eyes to stop herself from thinking about anything confusing and then opened them again.

Her hands went to work on the suitcase, unbuckling the two straps and lifting up the lid to reveal a few items that gave her a feeling of fright deep in her bowels. There was a chip, like a flash-drive only missing the USB plug in, which Taylor's mind identified as a holo-disk. Under it was a manila folder which she removed and sat next to the suitcase, revealing a gun, one she felt she could identify before she had stepped through the door.

"Fuck…" She whispered as she walked away from the briefcase over to a long window on the far wall. Her hands gripped the curtains as she took in a deep breath, then, releasing it, she yanked them out of her vision. There sat a cityscape of ever growing buildings, light, fluffy clouds and bustling streets filled with cars and civilians. For a moment it didn't snap into her brain, but then something flew over that knocked her back from the window onto the bed. A pelican soared by. She cursed under her breath again.

**# # #**

"Hunny, listen closely. The voices in your head, the ones that tell you things that you didn't think you knew, well that's not anything to be afraid of. It's you, it's just not a you that you're familiar with. It's hard to explain, but I can tell you that it's you. You're not crazy. It's instinct, it can guide you.

"In your head lies all the knowledge you need…it just…has an odd way of coming out. I've taught you everything I know and I'm sorry if you don't remember it all, or if you don't remember any of it. I didn't choose this for you, I hope you believe that…"

Her father's voice spoke through the holo-disk that was clutched in her hand. Taylor was on the floor, her knees tucked up to her chest as a fresh batch of tears began to stream down her face.

"Fuck you, dad!" She yelled through her sobs. Terror crushed her heart more so than anger, but she felt there was nothing else she could do. "What do you mean you didn't choose this for me? Who did then? I mean what the hell! This is absolutely ridiculous!"

She kicked out, her shin connecting with one of the bed posts. She let out a yelp, clutching at her leg as she felt it begin to swell immediately. The pain didn't exist for long, her brain ignoring it because of the fear that was built up in her heart. She was in a world that wasn't supposed to exist and her father had something to do with it. It hurt her to even think about. Her father had never shown an ounce of compassion and now…and now he had given her a gun and a short tape that did little to ease her mind.

The split in her mind continued to throw out memories that the other half didn't remember. They fought like little children, slapping and kicking to try and prove a point. They weren't working towards a solution; they were just pushing it further away. And Taylor couldn't stop it.

Then, like a grenade, an explosion occurred inside Taylor's head, deafening her. Except the explosion was that of words and not fire, the shrapnel being all the useless stuff that cluttered her mind. Everything that mattered came together as the shrapnel scattered to the edges of her brain, never to be heard of again. The only thing left now was a wardrobe.

There were several locks on the wardrobe and in Taylor's hand was a key. She didn't have to try every lock because it was her brain. Her hand went to the lock at the top, the key sliding in and twisting the tumblers until there was a thick and low 'thwump'. The top part of the wardrobe came loose, sliding open and letting Taylor into its contents.

Another her. Another life. But it wasn't. It was her, just on the other side of the door. The things she kept seeing weren't memories, at least not exactly. They weren't things she had actually done, they were things that had occurred on the other side of the door. It was as if her life on her side of the door was just half of the whole picture. And after she stepped through the door, the other half just popped into the frame. Something like that would cause confusion. It might make someone think they were crazy.

"But I'm not," Taylor said, feeling odd, but a good odd. It was like confidence. She assumed it was what it felt like to just know you were right without having any real proof. "I'm not crazy at all."

And she wasn't. The things she kept remembering were a life time of experiences on the other side of the door. So, she was pretty much right the first time when she thought that she felt like two people coming together in one body. Except it wasn't two people, it was all her.

It hurt her head to think about, because it didn't fully make sense. But it was ok, because she knew it would. She knew that it was ok to be confused and afraid, because what she was experiencing was new. What she was experiencing was scary and confusing. And it felt good to know that. It felt good to not be afraid, because she was in control. She had the wardrobe.

"Damn wardrobe," She said, shaking her head and wearing the first smile since she last talked to Zoey. The name pulled a string in her heart and it stung, but she swallowed it. For a moment she heard her father's voice. "Control your fear," her said. "It's the key to all the doors in the world." She didn't quite remember when he had said that, but she knew that she would eventually.

"Now, if only Dad had given me instruction on how…" She stopped as a low thump hit the air. She dashed over to the window and looked out into the massive city. A single plume of smoke was rising with the sky scrapers. Then there was another thump, this one closer. Then another, this one even closer. Then…

There was an explosion and Taylor was sent flying backwards from the window. She slammed into the wall on the other side of the room and fell to the floor. Outside, things began to heat up.

**I know there might be a lot to take in for this chapter, but if you don't understand it, don't worry, cause Taylor doesn't either. You'll learn with her as you learn about her. But if you have any theories I'd love to hear them. What do you think the 1 of 5 from the door means? What do you think the door is? Where do you think she is? **

**Again, thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	3. The Wardrobe

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing, you're all awesome and you make writing this so much more enjoyable. I hope you enjoy this latest installment, I know I did. **

**Chapter Three**

By the time the first bomb went off, Andrew Denner had completely forgotten the wife and little boy he left back at home. Up until that moment though, they had plagued his every thought. As he was recruited, as he trained, as he helped plot out the course and build the bombs, as he stepped onto the pelican and just as the pilot yelled "bombs away", they were there with him in his mind.

"My life is nothing to you," She had said and at last she was finally right.

As the second bomb dropped, the thought that his wife was probably shopping right below him didn't even occur to him. He sat patiently in the back with eleven other well trained men, dressed in official UNSC outfitting, holding a MA5B assault rifle in his right hand and a clip in the other.

"Third's off, fellas!" The Pilot's voice crackled through the men's helmets. "We'll be touching down in five seconds."

Andrew drew in a breath before shoving the clip into his rifle and tightening his grip. The pelican swooped and turned back towards the third target; a medium sized apartment complex, now with a gaping hole in its north side. Three separate floors were visible now, the damage being classified as extensive by the property owner as he called the attack in.

Many people in the city saw the Pelican as safety. But then again most people didn't know that the 'soldiers' in the back of the pelican weren't really soldiers at all. In most cases they would be called terrorists and subsequently insurrectionists. But to them, they were freedom fighters, though most of them didn't know what 'freedoms' they were fighting for.

So, as the Pelican came to rest on the roof of the building (dubbed the "Safe Haven Plaza" by the owner) several people were there to greet them. The soldiers, hopping from the back, greeted them with a few bullets from their weapons. Andrew was one of them, relishing each push the gun gave to his shoulder as the bullets tore through the civilians' chests. Their bodies fell to the cement roof; just another casualty of a war that never ends.

"Alright!" Andrew yelled to the other men. "Five floors down, room 1086! Move!" The 'soldiers' began to move, taking the stairwell while Andrew led the way. There was a young couple who were unlucky enough to be going down at the same time as the men, so they were cut down. Andrew's last thought of the matter was something like _they never saw it coming_. Then he smiled and kicked the door in of the tenth floor.

There was a thin layer of smoke clinging to the ceiling and the crackling of a small fire was prevalent, but no one paid it any attention. There wasn't a soul in the hallway (thankfully), so Andrew just continued to move, going at a full sprint towards room 1086. With three quick hand movements, the men behind him split into four groups. One went back to the stairs, the second went to the right, sweeping all rooms other than the target room, the third did the same, only going to the left.

The last stuck with Andrew as he arrived at the door he was looking for. Behind it was their target; a high class military man on leave from his third stint on the UNSC 'Say My Name'. Andrew had been warned that there might be woman and child present behind said door, but that didn't bother his trigger finger; not one once.

Two men other than himself followed him as he kicked through the door, revealing a room that the sky had claimed a portion of. What happened next killed one of his men and nearly made Andrew piss right where he stood. It did made him think of his wife and child though.

**# # #**

Taylor felt like hell when her eyes allowed themselves to open. The first thing she noticed, other than the renovations done on the house, was the thumping pain in her abdomen. She lifted her arm to begin to investigate, but stopped short when she noticed the gash along it. It didn't look serious to her, but then again Taylor was not (and never would be) a doctor, so she couldn't be one hundred percent. It was bleeding, but not in any quantity that she hadn't seen before.

Carefully, she lifted her shirt from her stomach, the pain flaring up regardless. She grunted as she pulled it up to her bra, looking down at the damage when she could bear the throbbing. A large, oddly shaped batch of blue and black skin, about the size of an average human foot, was all she saw. She began to bring her hand to it but the pain flared up, so she stopped, closing her eyes and gritting against it.

The skin around the bruise was yellow and ever since Taylor was a little kid, she had always associated that with 'one helluva welt'. It was a term her mother had coined after Taylor had flipped over her handlebars in the school parking lot. Any time her mother had said it, the wound normally didn't heal for weeks. Taylor prayed that this time would be different, because just sitting still made her head burn with agony.

Then she heard gunshots.

"Listen," Her father spoke inside of her head, but it wasn't her father; it was her. "I know it hurts, but you're going to die if you don't get up off the god damn floor."

"What?" Taylor asked. "Why?"

"They will kill you." Taylor felt her heart pound in her chest, not sure what to ask next. Then the wardrobe opened.

Clenching her teeth so hard she swore they would crack, Taylor got herself up on her knees. From there she brought one foot out, uttering a muffled scream as she did, and pushed. The next thing she knew, she was standing, looking out into a city that had once been behind a window. The air felt good on her stomach and face, so she closed her eyes and dragged in a large lungful of it. To her it felt like an ice-cold Pepsi after a long day of work and it gave her the small kick she needed to start walking.

At first it was more of a stumble. She fell to a knee and stayed there for a moment before standing back up and trying again. Then she hobbled, her right leg flaring up every time she put pressure on it. With one glance at it her heart sank. Though she had never seen a broken bone before, something in her head (perhaps herself) said that it was broken. But she didn't stop, she kept limping.

"The kitchen," the voice in her head hissed. "Get to the kitchen, quick!" The sound of cracking wood came from somewhere outside, followed by the hurried boot steps of what sounded like a whole squad of men. "Quickly! Holy shit, just go!"

"I'm trying," Taylor strained out, using the wall to support most of her weight as she slid closer to the kitchen. When she reached the archway she all but fell onto the counter, scattering a few useless trinkets to the floor. She paused there for a moment, hunkered over a wood-top counter, trying to catch any ounce of breath she could with her aching lungs.

The pain flared up in her gut and she reeled back. She coughed a horrible hacking cough, sending specks of blood out onto the counter. She whispered 'shit' over and over again as she hobbled, her top half sliding across the counter until she came to the sink. The voice was speaking to her, trying to tell her what to do, but it was muffled. It sounded like a voice from underneath an ocean; like a dream.

Her hand went into the sink and rummaged around. There were dinner plates, several of them, and they clattered as she pushed them out of the way. Then her hand felt steel; cold, hard steel. She gripped it, not even feeling as it cut into her palm, and pulled it into her view. A knife; not a knife made for combat, but a knife nonetheless. She began to grab the handle when the voice from the ocean surfaced.

"Firm wrist," It said. This time it was her father and that made her comfortable, even in the state she was; even in the place she was. "Don't move your shoulder, let your arm do it all."

Breathing hard, Taylor took the tip of the blade in her fingers, holding it just like he had showed her. Taylor didn't feel like herself, not entirely anyways. She felt like she was watching herself through a screen, like she had during the dream (or memory). Regardless of what she felt or saw, Taylor lifted the knife high above her head and turned towards the door that opened into the hallway. Then, just as the door burst open, the wardrobe did as well.

Still Taylor waited; she watched herself wait. Three people came in, dressed in the kind of wardrobe that just helped to remind her that she wasn't in her own world. They each held a gun that she identified as the "assault rifle", but the Taylor that held the knife knew it was an MA5B. It felt weird to think two different words at the same time, but that's exactly what Taylor did as the last guy to step in started to turn towards the kitchen.

_He's gonna kill me! Jesus fucking Christ, he's going to kill me!_

"No," the word barely escaped her lips as her hand cracked like a whip, sending the knife soaring through the air. Less than a second later it was sticking from the man's throat, silencing his call for help. But, ironically, he fell sideways onto the first guy who had stepped through first.

"Holy-mother-of-shit-fucking-Christ!," was Andrew's reaction as his partner fell onto him, coughing on the knife lodged in his throat. "Reynolds? Oh, what the…holy shit…good God…" The man stopped blathering and she heard the body flop onto the floor. Taylor quickly ducked down behind the island counted, between her and the mess she just made. _I just killed a man_, she thought, _I just killed a man_.

"It's ok, hun," Her father's voice sounded composed and it helped to calm her. "You didn't kill anyone. The place where your knife hit injured him, but he won't die." _That doesn't help dad, I still threw a knife into someone. That's…that's just so…so…powerful_. The word wasn't what she expected to hear herself think, but it made her shiver. The kind of shiver one has when they come to the end of a very good book and the hero repeats the line that made them fall in love with him in the first place.

Powerful. Yes, she felt powerful. But more so than that, she felt in control. That's when she noticed that her heart race was normal, not quickened in the least and her breath was still. She had no idea how long she had been holding it, but she was and it didn't seem to bother her. The screen was gone, the voices were gone. It was just her. It was just Taylor.

But it wasn't just her. There were two other men, with guns, who were stepping over their comrade to get to the kitchen and she didn't have a plan. They went slow, looking down the sights of their guns as if their eyes didn't work without them, scanning the mess of a house they had made with that single bomb.

Andrew pointed with his hand towards the island-counter and then made a swirling motion. Taylor saw it from in between a loaf of bunny bread and a box of Lieutenant Crunch, as she had her back up against the kitchen counter. She was still holding her breath, hoping that they wouldn't come around and just hold down their triggers, erasing her body from existence. Then she looked down and saw that the island counter was not a part of the floor; it was on wheel.

A smile spread on her face as she braced her back and placed her left leg on the left side of the island. In her mind she counted to three and then shoved with all of her might. The result was a counter (about four feet long and weighing seventy pounds) beginning a clockwise spin, but being halted by Andrew's body as it connected with his hip, breaking it and rendering his legs useless.

Andrew collapsed with an agonizing scream onto the floor and his partner, the only other able body in the entire house, panicked and fired his gun blindly at the now-still island. Luckily for him a single, ricocheted bullet slipped into Taylor's gut. Unluckily for him though, it was only that one and not any more.

Taylor merely grunted through the pain, sliding her ass across the tiled floor to avoid the spray-and-pray tactic. The wardrobe spilled out three pre-planned thoughts into her head; grab, throw, relief. Then, as if knowing she'd find it, her hand rummaged on the floor and came up with a knife. It was nothing short of a butter knife, but, as her dad had told her all those years ago, any knife will do.

She gripped it between her fingers (those two blessed fingers) and from a sitting position, her broken leg pointing out away from her while the bullet hole gushed crimson, she raised her arm in the most ridiculous of fashions. The man, the last man standing, the one whose gun was now empty, turned and saw the little teenage girl holding the butter knife before letting out a little laugh.

"Come on n…" His body dropped to the ground, a simple, metal butter knife sticking from his right eye.

Taylor breathed for the first time in what felt like forever. Her lungs burned and her face felt numb, but then again so did the rest of her body. She looked at the mess around her and remembered sitting on her couch just a few hours ago, talking to Zoey about balls and football games. Then she cried before passing out from a combination of internal and external bleeding.


	4. Solemn

**Chapter Four**

"What you're seeing is real."

Her head ached, throbbing with each beat of her heart. She felt the back of her head and flinched under a sharp pain. Dark blood soaked her hand as she brought it out in front of her.

"You'll survive," a synthetic voice spoke from the bleached walls. There were four surrounding her, creating a tiny, spacious room. The texture of the floor looked like concrete, but her feet felt nothing. There were no sounds, no smells, just the white walls and the pseudo-voice.

"I know half of you is probably confused," the voice was soft, but held no emotion. Taylor liked it. "The other half has already assessed that there isn't an exit and that this is most likely a dream. But it is real. All of it is real."

Taylor looked around, not sure what to say or if she was even supposed to speak. The voice had been right though, she had assessed even through the confusion.

"You are Taylor," the voice said. She began to confirm the question, only to find that it was a statement and the voice wanted no confirmation.

"Number one, the first. The leader. Your are seventeen years of age and you come from 2011, Earth. You stepped through the door. You cannot go back. You have met yourself. Are you confused?"

"Yeah, but only with the…"

"You have met yourself. This confuses you. Allow me to explain. There was a different you on the other side of the door. It had been born and it had lived seventeen years. But it had done it on the other side of the door, in the world that you chose to enter. When you stepped through, the other you and the you from 2011, Earth, were pushed into one body, one mind. Now you are one person."

"Then why am I so confused?"

"Two minds in one body can often be confusing, Miss. But in reality, it is as simple as both minds trying to coexist as one. They are similar in many ways, but they were raised in different universes. As you have found out, you have the ability to kill another human being, something which I know the 2011, Earth Taylor would not be able to comprehend."

"I still find it hard to comprehend."

"But you accept it." The voice still held no trace of emotion, though the words begged it.

"Will I ever not be confused?"

"No," The voice said. "As a human you will always question yourself, but now you have two different perspectives. Before you ask, this is in no way linked to what is known as multiple personality disorder. You are not insane, you merely have another life's worth of knowledge locked in your brain. We call it 'the wardrobe effect'."

"We?" Taylor's mind processed what the voice said and it eased her. She could have sworn she was crazy.

"Yes, we."

That was all the voice had to say on the matter. Taylor stood waiting for more, but nothing came. As she began to speak, the voice cut her off.

"The Leader, the Martyr, the Bridge, the Truth and the Meta." As the voice spoke, thousands of strands of data began to fill the room, coming from the walls and the floor. They lined themselves into neat rows that formed images. The images resembled what a tarot card might look like if it were projected like a hologram.

One each was the titles the voice had said. Under "the Leader" was a picture of Taylor followed by a very in-depth biography depicted everything that happened in both 2011, Earth her's life and the new life that was locked in her mind; behind the wardrobe. The same was true for the other titles.

"You are the first, number one. You will unite the five."

"Why? How?"

"I don't know."

Taylor looked at the others, seeing things she didn't understand. There were a lot of names she didn't know and places she'd never heard of. But there was one that made her recoil when she read it.

"Zoey," She said the name to herself. Her hand reached out to touch the picture of the girl she knew like a sister, but had never seen before. The tips of her finger would have sworn they felt Zoey's skin, but the data shook and dispersed, reforming after she withdrew her hand.

"Yes, Zoey, number two, from 2011, Earth," The voice paused before continuing. "The Martyr."

**# # #**

It took a moment before Zoey realized she was walking. Buildings towered over her, lining the four-lane street. People, all looking like they had places to go pushed around her. If it weren't for them, Zoey would have stopped and stared up at the clouds in wonder, but she kept moving.

The street came to an intersection and without any conscious decision, Zoey veered right. The LCD screen hanging by the traffic light told her she had just gotten off of "Algonquin rd." and was now heading down "Golf Street". The names were unfamiliar to her; everything was unfamiliar to her. Even the way everyone was dressed made her feel weird. But when she glanced down at herself, she saw that she was dressed the same.

Her body kept moving as her mind became of hurricane of thoughts and questions. The tightly laced shoes on her feet carried her down Golf street until she reached "Parry rd." which she turned right on. It looked just like the ones before it.

The buildings around her stretched into the clouds and made her heart beat quicken. She felt her breathing pattern become hastened as a bead of sweat rolled from her forehead. Her shoes picked up the pace, but the buildings seemed to be closing in, making the street feel narrow. What had been four lanes was now two, and what had been a hundred people became a thousand.

Each beat of her heart ricocheted through her body. She felt it in her fingers and in her thighs, even in her abdomen as she breathed. Her head spun in the heat that struck her like a wall. Her pits became damp as did the brow of her forehead. She felt a few more beads roll down her face, resting on her nose.

Her shoes sped up, pushing her passed the crowd and further down the street. The edge of her vision had become a bright light, contrasted by the darkness the street held. The road had become a cave with the opening being the next intersection, just thirty feet away.

Those thirty feet looked like sixty and felt like a hundred. The buildings kept closing in on her till she swore they were pushing against her shoulders, threatening to squeeze her to death. The air had become thickened by her own breath and the heat from everyone else. It made it hard to breathe, which made it hard to think. So she just ran, knocking passed a few groups of people until she made it to the intersection.

What she felt and saw struck a chord in her heart. The city dropped down like the hills of San Francisco, creating a giant bowl shape. The buildings got gradually smaller as the hill got steeper until they reached the radius; that's where they began to stretch into the clouds again.

The fresh air and the open area that greeted her quickly cooled her mind and body, slowing her breath and letting her catch it at the same time. She could see for miles as the city dropped and rose again. It had to be at least twelve miles from where she stood to the city center, another twenty uphill and she'd be at the top of the other side of the bowl. Her feet ached just thinking about it.

"Where am I?" She asked quietly to the sky. As if answering, the wind blew the front page of a newspaper against her shin. Zoey reached down and brought it up to her face for her eyes to feast upon. "The Solemn Herald" was the name of the paper. Zoey glanced at the bowl shaped city and decided that it didn't look very solemn.

"City center bombing leaves thousands dead," the headline read. "Authorities believe ambassador was target." It was accompanied with a picture of a middle-aged, handsome man and his equally handsome family. It shook Zoey, because she'd seen the picture before.

The door flashed through her mind, the steel door that had a large "2" carved into it. Through the door she saw a younger version her and another girl which she didn't recognize. Through the door she found herself walking down a street she didn't know, in a city that was even further out of her mind.

She remembered why she had been walking. It was the girl through the door, she was in trouble. The picture was of Taylor's family. The little girl was Taylor.

**Sorry for taking so long.**


End file.
